Messages in a Flower
by Edorenel
Summary: Helen Sinclair is a friendly, simple writer from an old Virginian Middle-Class household. Her quiet, Modern life is normal until she finds herself in the 1700s...and with the notorious Colonel William Tavington!
1. A Good Writing Day

Every night, the chirping crickets and the croaking frogs were the same until one summer night altered Helen Sinclaire's life. Flipping the sash lock of a nearby window, Helen lifted the lower sash to allow some air into her bedroom. But nothing seemed to abate the warm and humid night, not even her electric fan.

Helen crossed her arms as her chocolate-colored eyes surveyed the bewitchingly serene landscape of grass and trees. She stroked her hair braided to the left side before she paused to stare at her palm.

"That dream," she muttered. "I can't shake it off." _Why can't I forget it? Why can't I forget him?_ Helen sighed. "What am I doing? I need to rest."

With outstretched arms feeling through the darkness as she shuffled across the wooden floor that creaked beneath her small feet, Helen reached her bed and climbed into it. She spared her sprawled body from the uncomfortably warm blankets as she stared at the white ceiling. _I'm visiting Stratford Hall Plantation tomorrow morning. I can't be daydreaming like a fool._ Helen closed her eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

Straightaway, the intense morning heat immediately swathed Helen as she stepped out from a taxi. Pulling out her writing journal, Helen gawked at the riveting historical scenery. She never imagined she would gaze upon or tread the ground of Stratford Hall, the home of the well-known Lees of Virginia. It was only a two-hour drive from where Helen lived. The mere thought of Stratford Hall excited Helen's heart as she grinned, scribbling away descriptions into her journal.

A gentle, warm breeze swept in, ruffling Helen's ivory dress splattered with delicate lavender blossoms. The neckline of the dress had a floral trim and a ruffled hem. A lavender belt and a pair of leather brown flats completed the elegant but pretty ensemble.

Helen slapped the paper back to its original position in her journal. She brushed away any extra pencil debris before taking a moment to tuck a lock of her dark brown shoulder-length hair behind her ear. She reviewed what was written before continuing to scribble down more descriptions and ideas, oblivious to what was transpiring in front of her. When she finally looked up again, she noticed a film crew in the distance.

Helen's face fell. _Well, that's disappointing. It looks like I won't be allowed any closer. Damn it! I should've researched the happenings of this site. I wanted a firsthand closeup of the place._ Helen sighed.

"I suppose I'll just sit beneath the trees," Helen muttered to herself as she made her way up to a small hillside strewn with yellow-green grass. Other people were present as well. Whether they were a part of the film crew, fans, or simple bystanders Helen couldn't quite tell. And her mind had better things to focus on.

Beneath the cool shade of a tree, Helen stood and quietly wrote away. The world around her faded away as she lost herself in her thoughts and imaginations. It wasn't until after a few callings from an old Englishman with glasses did Helen snap out of her stupor.

"O-oh! I'm awfully sorry, sir!" She blushed and quickly bowed her head. "I didn't realize you were standing there. My apologies. I was kinda lost in my writing." She nervously laughed.

"It's quite all right, madam." The old man languidly waved a hand in the air while smiling. He was holding a well-crafted wooden cane in his right hand. He was dressed in a fine tailored white suit with brown leather oxford shoes. "I was wondering why you looked rather familiar, and now I know why." He smiled. "You're the delightful writer of historical fiction romances, Miss Helen Sinclair, are you not?"

"I am her, yes." Helen's eyes widened in surprise. _Well, bless my soul! I didn't think anyone would know me._ "How did you know it was me?"

The man chuckled. "A person can train their eyes well by simply observing and listening, and you, my dear, have been in papers, social media, and the telly. Word travels rather quickly if I must say." He grinned. "But I must confess; it is quite a surprise to me to find you here, Miss Sinclaire. What brings you here?"

"Research."

"Ohh! Are you writing a new novel, then? Brilliant! Ah, but where have my manners gone?" He laughed and held out a hand. "My name's Stanley Pearce. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Helen shook Stanley's hand. "You can call me Helen. And it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pearce."

"Very well, Helen, and please call me Stanley."

Helen smiled with a nod of her head. "Okay, Stanley."

"It's a rather hot day, isn't it?" Stanley wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief trimmed with lace that he pulled out from the pocket of his grey vest.

"Yeah, it is awfully hot." Helen looked up at the azure sky with a frown, feeling the heat of summer even as she stayed in the safe, cool confines of the shade or trees. "What are those people down there doin'?"

"Oh, you mean them? They're simply filming scenes."

"A movie, huh? Interesting."

"It's supposed to take place during your country's revolution, I heard."

"Oh, really?" Helen smiled. _Oh, this is perfect research!_ "So, that's why they're using Stratford Hall Plantation."

"I wonder what made them pick this location, though. There are plenty of historical places on the east coast."

"Perhaps the history of the place struck their fancy. Or maybe they're using it as the British headquarters. I can see men in red coats at the front and top of the two towers," said Helen as she pointed in the general direction. There were red coats lined up in an orderly fashion across the green in front of the Great House, the biggest building on its acre.

"Ohh! You're quite right, Helen." Stanley adjusted his glasses and squinted. "You're quite right, indeed. You have remarkable eyesight if I do say so myself." Stanley patted Helen's back.

"I reckon so," laughed Helen.

"I did not expect to see an audience watching this, however." The old man glanced behind him. "I'm quite surprised."

"Me, too." Helen also glanced behind her at the small crowd picnicking and enjoying the spectacle. "They must be here for something or someone."

Stanley chuckled. "Fans, eh? Do you think all of them are fans?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm here for research, though. I was hoping I'd get the chance to enter the plantation and see its interior, but it looks like that will have to wait."

"Indeed. I imagine they're not allowing anyone in until they're finished with the area."

Helen sighed. _Of course not._

"What are you writing about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, I'm writing a historical romance novel."

"I ought to have guessed." Stanley laughed. "You indeed have a talent for writing such exceptional historical romances. It reminds me of Jane Austen's works. Your pages ooze with your heart and soul. I can tell."

Stanley's words instantly drowned out the world around Helen so much so that Helen was oblivious to the suddenly animated crowd. Voices were growing louder.

"You really think so?" Helen blushed. "You've read my books then?"

"I have, yes."

Helen's face lit up with joy. "That's amazing! I'm truly thankful for your words. I hope you've enjoyed my worlds."

"Quite so. I always look forward to reading and rereading them."

A sense of pride and accomplishment swelled within Helen's breast. "I am honored, Stanley. It's my goal to have readers enjoy my worlds, you know, and hearing your words makes me feel happy."

"Bloody hell, what is going on over there?"

"Hmm?" Helen blinked and curiously followed Stanley's gaze.

There in the distance, a small cavalry group dressed in red coats with green facings, black breeches, brown jockey boots, and noticeably black plume helmets galloped up the hillside. Somehow the combination was intimidating as they neared. There was one well-built man who, even from afar, was unmistakably handsome. He had black hair held tightly back into a queue.

"They must be on break," concluded Stanley.

"I reckon so."

Helen couldn't seem to remove her gaze from the handsome man. And for whatever reason, her cheeks felt like they were burning. She tightly hugged her journal, pressing it hard against her chest as if that was going to abate her racing heart. Her small hands were gripping it tighter as the handsome man rode closer and closer. She could see his face clearer now.

Helen broke her gaze the instant she saw his eyes look at her. _Crap! I hope he didn't see me staring at him like a fool._ Quickly opening her writing journal, Helen feigned reading its contents.

"Ah, Jason! Jason Isaacs!" Stanely waved. "Over here, young man!"

 _Oh, no! What is Stanley doing calling him over here?!_ _Wait. Isaacs...? Did he really just say "Isaacs"?_

Helen briefly looked up at the handsome man. _Oh, shit! It is him!_ Helen's gaze fled to her journal again as she intensely blushed. _How is this happening to me right now?_

"Good afternoon, Jason. How are you?"

"I'm quite well. Thank you. It's good to see you, Stanley." Jason, remaining mounted on his horse, reached down to shake the old man's hand. "How have you been? It has been a while."

"Ah, that it has. That it has. I am well. I'm still ticking." Stanley snickered. "We ought to catch up sometime over a drink."

"I'd like that."

"It appears filming is moving rather smoothly."

"Yes. It's bloody hot, though," Jason laughed, "but it's progressing quite nicely." Jason tugged at the fingertips of his black leather gloves to pull them off.

"Well, let us hope the weather decides to be kind to us."

"Indeed."

"I'm glad to see you're well, Jason. Just don't push yourself too much."

"Don't worry. I won't."

"Ah, I've been talking to this lovely little lady here. I was pleasantly surprised to see her here. Her name's Helen Sinclair. Perhaps you've heard of her. She's a writer of historical romance novels. Helen, my dear, meet my good friend Jason Isaacs."

 _Here we go._ Helen looked up from her journal as she closed it. She took a few steps forward, flashing a genteel smile, and nodded her head. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Jason."

"Likewise, Helen." Jason reached down to take Helen's small hand in his. And to Helen's amazement, she felt his soft lips on the top of her hand instead of a firm handshake.

 _He's a gentleman! Gee, why can't men I met be like him?_

"Well, I hate to leave on such short notice," interrupted Stanley, which gave Helen the opportunity to nonchalantly retrieve her hand from Jason's without feeling awkward, "but I must rejoin my wife. I've been away for far too long, and it looks like she has a spot of tea ready. If you'll please excuse me." He bowed and walked past Jason.

"And I should continue my research."

"Research...?" Jason smiled. "What are you researching about, Helen, if you don't mind me asking, of course?"

"Well, it's nothing solid yet. They're just descriptions of the area and of Stratford Hall Plantation. I want to be as accurate as possible in my story. I feel details like that helps with the immersion to a Colonial world."

"I see." Jason smiled further, his striking ice blue eyes conveying admiration. He crossed his wrists over the pommel of his saddle. "You have an interesting approach to your methods, Helen."

Helen nervously laughed. "Thank you. I was hoping I could get a glimpse of the interior of the plantation, but I didn't plan very well. I had no idea this was happening today."

"Would you like a tour of the place?"

"What?" Helen stared at him as if he spoke a foreign language.

Jason laughed and smiled. "I said would you like a tour of the plantation?"

"Is that even...allowed? Is it okay?"

"We're finished, and they do allow us to take a tour of the historic areas during our pastime. And if you're with me, there won't be a problem." Jason smiled.

 _Wow, that must be a luxury._ "Well, if you say it's okay..." This seemed too good to be true to Helen, but she greatly desired to see what the interior of Stratford Hall looks like. "Let's go."

"Perfect! It isn't far. We can walk."

"Okay. That's fine with me."

Jason dismounted his mare, still holding onto the leather reins to keep the horse near him as he and Helen walked side-by-side.

 _I can't believe this is happening. How did this even happen? It's supposed to be a day of research, yet now I'm walking with Jason Isaacs to look at Stratford Hall._ Helen sighed. _I don't know if this is a cruel joke or reality._

To Helen's surprise, neither one spoke but this was okay for Helen. The silence was enjoyable. Just a mere pleasant stroll. _I don't even know what to say to an actor. I never met a famous one before. I must be pretty lame to him._ Helen sighed.

"Are you alright, Helen? You keep sighing."

"Huh? Oh!" Helen blushed. "I am still worried, I guess. I don't wanna get ya into trouble and all."

Jason warmly smiled. "It'll be fine. We'll be fine. Trust me. Here." Jason handed the leather reins to a nearby staff member before holding out his left arm for Helen. "Take my arm."

Helen blinked before stretching forth her right hand to grasp Jason's forearm.

"Now you'll see precisely what it looked like back then." Jason smiled. "For your research."

"Yes." Helen nodded with an eager smile. She fixated her gaze upon the entrance. It was grand with its wide stone staircase leading up to a red door. _Wow! It's bigger up close than I thought it would be!_ It was two-stories high with two towers and many white eight-pane windows. Her heart was racing. Whether it was from nervousness or excitement, Helen did not know.

Jason and Helen ascended the stone steps. Upon reaching the top, Jason opened the red door for Helen and in an instant, after passing through the doorway, everything changed. So much so that Helen stood motionless and speechless as she tried to comprehend what lay before her.

The room was suddenly darker, lit only by the soft glow of candlelight. Baroque music flooded her ears as couples swirled about the Center Great Hall. More nobility in lush gowns and fine suits were conversing while sitting in Chippendale chairs and settees outlining the raised paneling walls. Servants with white powdered wigs walked around with a silver tray of either Madeira or delicate snacks as offerings.

 _W-what in the world is this?!_ Helen perfectly knew she was in a historic place, but she did not expect to see it so soon nor in such a frighteningly realistic and immersive manner. Yet, something still felt unnatural to her. As if seeking reassurance for her mental state, Helen turned her head to look behind her. She saw other nobles in formal attire stepping out from black carriages that weren't there before. The sky had blackened, too, decorated with twinkling stars and a soft full moon. _It's night already?! Since when? And where did everyone go?_ Bewildered, Helen continued frantically glancing around. _Where is the staff member that was literally right here a moment ago?_

Helen suddenly felt a sickening sensation in her stomach. Feeling something tickling her elbows, she looked at it and noticed her body clad in a silk navy blue Robe à l'Anglaise with lace ruffles tacked to her elbow-length sleeves. _My dress! What the hell?_

"Where am I?"

"I should think that was rather obvious," responded a familiar, handsome British voice as the two maneuvered to one side of the room away from the dancers. "We are at a ball, madam." The voice was pleasant to Helen's ears, yet it felt incorrect, cold, apathetic, even mocking. It had lost the warmth and kindness it held a minute ago.

Fearing the worst, Helen coerced herself to look up at Jason. His stern, bored expression wounded Helen's heart. It was such a drastic change from what she had witnessed.

"Jason...?"

The man threw an icy glare down at Helen. "Pardon me?" His intense blue eyes pierced Helen's heart. "You know perfectly well my name is William Tavington."

 _Tavington?! Well, yes, but...he's Jason, isn't he?_ Worry flooded Helen's heart.

"I don't know who this 'Jason' is nor do I care, but it would be unwise of you to insult me in front of the guests."

"But I wasn't-"

"If you are considering even the slightest of turning around in an attempt to escape, I'd advise against it lest you prefer losing more than, apparently, your eyes and ears tonight, Miss Sinclair. You're a prisoner. My prisoner, and you will obey my orders. Is that understood?"

 _Prisoner...? Since when was I his prisoner?_ The overwhelming situation, melded with her confusion and her hurt toward Jason's strange behavior, rendered Helen speechless.

"Is that understood?" repeated Tavington but a bit more tersely.

"Y-yes!" Helen instinctively straightened her back, feeling surprised by how intensely commanding he was in person.

"Good."

Helen sighed. "Okay, I'll admit it. You play your character's role well. Now, can you please stop acting? I think you are going awfully far with this."

"Acting...?"

Tavington slid his hand up Helen's right arm to grasp her elbow, giving it a squeeze hard enough to warn her as he pulled her aside away from the crowd. Tavington led her into a more private room at the east end of the building.

"You think I'm acting, do you? You're a bold one, aren't you? I don't think you quite understand the situation in which you are in, Miss Sinclair." Tavington released Helen only to grab her by the chin, forcing her to stare into his icy blue eyes. "I know not if you're wishing to die or if you hit your head somewhere, but allow me to clarify for you. You will behave properly under my presence while we're here. I will not have you make a fool out of me in front of my subordinates and the guests. Keep quiet and you can keep your pretty head on your shoulders."

"Ahem! Colonel Tavington," spoke a posh British male voice, "Lord Cornwallis wishes to speak with you."

Tavington quickly removed his hand but kept his gaze fixed on Helen, even as his face fell. "As you wish, General O'Hara." Tavington lowered his voice just enough for Helen to hear. "Stay here and don't you dare move from this spot, understood?"

"Yes, Colonel Tavington." It was all Helen could manage to say.

And with that, Tavington followed the officer, disappearing from Helen's view.

With a heavy sigh of relief, Helen wavered two steps backward. She pressed a hand to her forehead as dizziness settled in. Her knees gave out and she approached a Chippendale chair from behind. Remembering her research, Helen slightly picked up the side hoops around the hip area of her gown and sat down, perching on the chair. She sighed again, placing a hand on her racing heart as she looked at the ornate paintings on the wall across from her.

 _This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke. There's no way this is really happening._ But the more Helen reflected on her situation, the more she began to realize none of it was a joke. This was a reality, _her_ reality. She wasn't home anymore and Jason Isaacs never existed. There was only the infamous and dashing William Tavington, "The Butcher".

"Where in the world am I?"


	2. Evening of Dances

By the time reality settled in, fear and apprehension glued Helen to her chair. To the public, Helen's outward appearance was that of a lady merely resting in a quieter room; however, inwardly Helen could feel a struggle swirling inside her heart.

 _I have to be calm. There's nothing I can do right now. No matter how deeply I wish it, there's not a sound or sight of my..._ Helen couldn't even dare herself to say it, but she knew she had to admit the undeniable truth. _My world is gone. The 1700s my home now._

Helen swallowed hard as her hands clutched her gown. Her mind still reeled in disbelief at having even thought such a thing, clinging to an increasingly false hope that this was merely a long dream. A sickening feeling settled heavily in the pit of her stomach as she tried, and failed, to stop her quivering. _I know I'm scared but I need to do...something!_ With a deep inhale, Helen managed to gain some composure. She watched the attendees of the ball conversing and dancing in the Great Hall. Laughter from the East Garden captured Helen's attention as she turned her head to the source.

Helen rose from her chair. _Everything will be fine. I'll be fine._ She smoothed out the skirts of her navy blue robes à l'anglaise.

"Here we go," she muttered to herself as her mind skimmed over her many years of study and research of the 18th Century.

Swallowing another wave of nervousness, Helen politely curtsied as she offered a smile to the guests that passed her by, who returned her manners with a genteel nod. Helen's eyes watched them disappear from view before she breathed. _Oh, my goodness! I thought I was going to die!_ She breathed again. _I passed my first test._ Helen slowly followed the footsteps of the guests, hearing the musicians strike up a song again. She took in one last deep breath. _Out of the frying pan and into the oven. Heh._ Helen quivered in nervousness even as excitement filled her heart. The atmosphere, sounds, sight, and fragrant perfumes were delightfully realistic as she eagerly stepped out onto the East Garden to be a part of this ball. The line between reality and dream was so perfectly blotted out.

With a gasp and a face lit up like a child's on Christmas day, Helen scanned the refined garden strewn with dashing young Green Dragoons, British officers, and refined noble ladies and gentlemen. She folded her hands in front of her and meandered aimlessly, admiring the scenery. _I wish I could record this for my novel right now! This would be so good~!_ Sighing heavily in disappointment, Helen shifted her position to look behind her at the doorway she came out from. There stood the dashing Colonel Tavington looking as sour as ever.

A deep thump struck her heart as her eyes widened and her face blanched. She swiftly turned her head away to conceal her face. _How did he find me so quickly? I hope he didn't see me._ She bit her lip. _Shit! I didn't listen to him. Damn it! He's going to kill me, isn't he? He is going to kill me. I'm going to die._ Helen inhaled deeply. _No, no. You're fine, Helen. Just breathe. Act natural._

Helen desperately looked around for anything that would save her soul, knowing well her time was vastly shortening before Tavington would find her. She spotted a generous crowd of nobles and officers conversing. And before her brain could catch up, Helen's feet hastily led her straight to them as she grabbed a flagon of Madeira to gulp down for good measure.

A dashing Green Dragoon stepped in front of her, stopping Helen in her tracks, and turned on his heel to face her. He was taller than Helen. Probably six feet tall as her eyes quickly scanned him. His hair was light brown and queued back, and his eyes were nearly as blue as Tavington's.

"Captain James Wilkinson," Helen unconsciously muttered.

James' eyebrows twitched. He slightly turned his head in suspicion while keeping his gaze on Helen. "You...know who I am, madam?"

Helen intensely blushed as she covered her mouth. _Shit! That slipped out._ She feigned to laugh in a charming manner.

"Of course! The ladies oft speak of you an' Colonel Tavington," she said as she curtsied and smiled. _Ha! Take that! Nothing's more irresistible to a man than a woman boosting his ego._ Helen yearned to grin in triumph but did well to suppress the desire. "Do forgive my forwardness."

"Oh, think nothing of it, madam. And"-James nervously cleared his throat as his cheeks lightly flushed-"Is it true the ladies talk about me?" James smiled.

 _My, he really must not receive many compliments if he blushes over that._

"Well, I am honored," continued James. "Since you know who I am, madam, I should like to know your name."

"My name is Helen Sinclair, Captain Wilkinson." She allowed James to take her hand to kiss it while she curtsied again and he bowed. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

James smiled. "A pleasure indeed. I was making my way to the Great Hall. Would you care to accompany me to dance, Miss Sinclair? I feel I would be less nervous with you."

Helen laughed. "I think I would be nervous." _Wait. Dancing...? I don't know anything about Colonial dancing!_ "I am a poor dancer, and I fear I'll step on your toes."

James smiled before laughing. "My toes would welcome a pretty lady stepping on them. I must confess, Miss Sinclair, I'm not a fine dancer myself." He held out an arm for Helen. "We shall poorly dance together, Miss Sinclair."

Helen smiled as she took a hold of James' arm. "I'd be delighted, Captain Wilkinson." _I can't be rude. I'm in this. It's my only choice right now._ Helen accepted James' hand and followed him, retracing her steps into the building and ultimately into the Great Hall. Luckily, Colonel Tavington was not to be found. _I must have lost him. As much as I like him, thank goodness he disappeared!_ Helen felt a great weight lift off her chest, but now she had a bigger worry: dancing in front of nobility. Nothing could be more embarrassing and worse than a lady of "inferior birth" tripping over herself in front of the rich folk. Her knowledge, too, of how important first impressions and reputations are in this period did not abate her worry.

Helen swallowed hard as she nervously glanced around the ballroom, taking her spot on one side while select gentlemen, including James, stood in a line on the other side. _I know I daydreamed about this, but I'm still unprepared!_ The musicians began playing.

In the heat of the moment, Helen's mind and focus kicked into overdrive as she curtsied. She desperately recounted the videos and books she poured over for hours, which were about popular dance types in the 18th Century. And as soon as the dancers began to move to Antonio Vivaldi's delightful and lively "Spring Opus 8: Concerto No. 1 for Violin in E Major in Allegro", Helen felt reassured.

With a warm and genteel smile, she took James' hand and danced down the center of the two lines to the beat of the piece and to the pace of the fellow dancers. Helen could feel the amount of focus and attention this took. And soon, her nervousness melted into rapture and enjoyment as she danced away with the synchronized group. _This is incredible!_ Helen grinned. _This is nothing like back home!_

"You appear to enjoy yourself, Miss Sinclair," James spoke, at last, as he contentedly observed Helen's ecstatic expression.

Helen waited until they held hands again. "Yes. I find the dance an' music mighty lovely, don't you agree, Captain Wilkinson?"

James waited until he held Helen's small hands again. "I do agree, yes. It is lively. I didn't think I would enjoy myself until I met you."

Helen laughed, failing to withhold a blush. "Is that so? My, is a lady the only means of wakin' you from a borin' situation?"

James smirked as he weaved about with the other dancers. "Not entirely, but you are special. You seem...different. I noticed it when you approached me."

Helen felt a pang in her heart. _Does he know? No. He couldn't have known. No one saw what happened. There hasn't been a word or gossip about me suddenly appearing, almost as if..._ Her thoughts broke when she held James' hands again. She smiled.

"Are you a flirter or an honest man, Captain Wilkinson?"

James smiled. "I think myself a political man of true thoughts. And those were my thoughts, Miss Helen."

 _Surprising. He is more pleasant than what I remember hearing about him on the hillside. A Tory and perhaps a coward, but he is nice gentleman._

As the dance drew to a close and the ladies curtsied and the gentlemen bowed, Helen felt her face fall. _I wonder if my home exists. I wonder if everyone is okay._ She stared at James and smiled.

"Thank you for the dance, Captain Wilkinson. It was wonderful." Helen curtsied again.

"Likewise, Miss Sinclair." James bowed. "Allow me to escort you away from the dance floor, Miss Sinclair."

"That won't be necessary, Captain," said a cold and stern voice that sent chills down Helen's spin and froze her in place.

Helen swallowed down a gasp while she tentatively raised her eyes to see the dashing Colonel Tavington weaving through the crowd unhurriedly. His face was most displeased, and his icy eyes were even more unforgiving as they kept their gaze fixed on Helen like a predator stalking its prey.

Everyone knew better than to anger Colonel Tavington. That was a death sentence! Yet unbeknownst to Helen, for whatever reason, she felt compelled to continue rebelling against him despite knowing his anger and the consequences. And she kept tossing this thought repeatedly in her mind, cursing herself for being rebellious, while she silently battled Colonel Tavington via a staring contest.

"Sir!" Captain James bowed. "I did not see y - "

With a mere hand held up in the air, Colonel Tavington silenced James.

 _Wow! What a commanding presence..._ Helen was in awe. _This had to be what the people felt when witnessing this character._

"You may leave us, Captain. I would like very much to dance the next minuet with Miss Sinclair." Colonel Tavington smirked, still keeping his gaze glued to Helen's eyes.

Helen's eyebrows distorted. _Dance...? He doesn't even like dancing! He hates it!_ Helen opened her mouth to protest, to reject him, but she was stopped by Colonel Tavington as he slowly approached her.

"Continue to stare at me like that and you might gain permanent wrinkles."

Helen blushed as she angrily glared at him.

"I trust there are no objections to dancing, Miss Sinclair?" Colonel Tavington's lips curled into an amused smile while his blue eyes warned her.

 _Damn this man to Hell! He knew it. He's so infuriating! Fine! You wanna play? Let's play, Tavington._ Her demeanor quickly changed as her eyes gazed at him with determination and confidence while she curtsied with a warm smile.

"I would be delighted to dance with you, Colonel Tavington."

Tavington, for the briefest of moments, looked genuinely surprised, perhaps even impressed by her rebuttal. There was a slight hint of a smile before it faded while he bowed. He held Helen's hand and escorted her to the center of the dance floor, taking their position with the other couples.

Helen stared at their hands with a blush. _His hand is bigger than I thought. Bigger than mine. It's surprisingly warm, too._ Helen glanced up at Colonel Tavington. _It's odd, considering how unfeeling he is._

The gently sweet and slow violin of Antonio Vivaldi's "Spring Opus 8: Concerto No. 1 for Violin in E Major: II. Largo" melted into the room, and the two began to dance in rhythm to it.

"I see you didn't wait for me as I instructed," began Colonel Tavington as the two stood close to each other face-to-face.

"I didn't realize invited guests were meant to be confined to a chair or a room like a _prisoner_ ," retorted Helen before they broke away.

When the two finally reunited, Colonel Tavington stared at Helen unimpressed. "What did you think when avoiding me? Did you think I wouldn't notice? I think you will find it a fool's move, one you will regret."

"An' you resort to threats in every conversation, Colonel Tavington." Helen smirked. _How typical of him!_ "Haven't you learned decency? I imagine that was why you were called away earlier." The two broke away again.

Upon Colonel Tavington's return, it was clear to Helen she had flustered him. Anger swelling in Colonel Tavington's ice blue eyes was prominent, but it did not phase nor stop Helen from standing her ground with him. "Don't presume to know what was discussed amongst my subordinates," growled Colonel Tavington. "You know little of me. Your little 'victories' must please you, Miss Sinclair, but I'm afraid they're shortlived. What is your intent? Do you enjoy meddling with me, Miss Sinclair?"

"Not at all. But I feel someone ought to stand and resist you."

"Hmph! Such typical Rebel speech! It is folly."

"If anything is _'folly'_ , Colonel Tavington, it is you ordering me about like a pet! I am not your pet nor your prisoner. I never will be."

"Yet you have no choice in the matter. I captured you, or have you forgotten that fact, Miss Sinclair?"

 _What?_ Helen quickly masked her confusion at what he said. "How could I ever forget such a cold-hearted, arrogant, conceited man such as you?"

The two glared at each other, hearts racing, body heating up. The curious crowd faded from their consciousness entirely as they became completely engrossed in each other.

"Whether you captured me or not," continued Helen, "it does not change the fact that I am an invited guest here. Therefore, I will wander, sit, and dance where I please and when I please. Your orders are not mine!" The two broke away for the final time.

Colonel Tavington scoffed upon returning to Helen, standing in front of her again. "Perhaps for tonight, they are not, Miss Sinclair." The music began to near its end, and as the two prepared to curtsey and bow, Colonel Tavington seized the moment to leave final words with a knowing gaze. "No matter how much you try to rebel against me, you _will_ heed my words, Miss Sinclair."

Helen furiously blushed, despite knowing this was far from romantic. But something about his intense gaze, his tone of voice, his bowed posture combined with his handsome face made Helen wonder. It was all quite overwhelming to her as heat rushed throughout her body. So much so that after everything was properly finished, Helen turned around, picking up the skirts of her gown, and fled through the crowd to escape to the West Garden.

With a laborious breath, Helen ran down a dirt path to a more secluded, private area of the garden. And as soon as she slowed down, she felt something grab her wrist and yank her backward, crashing into the firm chest of Colonel Tavington.

In a swirl of disappointment, frustration, and embarrassment, Helen struck Tavington's chest.

"Let go of me! Let go, you scoundrel! How dare you hold me like this!" She struggled to break herself free from Tavington's hold but to no avail, blushing at how close his face was to hers.

"Lower your voice," commanded Colonel Tavington, "lest you draw the entire crowd here!" He glanced at the crowd going about their business outside. To his relief, no one heard or paid heed to them.

"Good! I hope they hear me so they can save me from the likes of you."

"Hmph! You're spiteful, aren't you?" Colonel Tavington smirked. "And you don't listen very well either. It must be a trait of your family."

Offended, Helen glared at Colonel Tavington with a scowl on her face. "How _dare_ you say such things? You know nothing of my family! So, don't you pretend as if you know everything 'cause you sure as hell don't!"

Col. Tavington raised an eyebrow. "Is that, also, another trait of your family's? To speak with such volgar language?"

Feeling further embarrassed and annoyed, Helen attempted to strike Tavington on the face only for her wrist to be pushed back behind her backside. "You must know, 'tis quite the contrary, Miss Sinclair." He grinned with pleasure. "I know quite a bit about you, thanks to your father."

 _What?_ Helen blinked in disbelief. The very sentence ceased all of her movements and snuffed out her fiery anger. "My...father? What do you know of my father?" _He's not even here! He's back home right now, probably watching his favorite T.V. show. ...Isn't he?_

A devilish grin grace Tavington's lips as pleasure glinted in his ice blue eyes. "'Twould seem I struck a chord in you. Good. Your father is a fool, like all Rebels, who wouldn't heed my orders. So, I merely punished him as I did with all traitors of The Crown."

 _What...?_ Helen's face blanched. _Don't tell me Tavington... But he couldn't have. He wouldn't. I mean, this is... This is all fake, right?_ Helen feigned to laugh as if nothing bothered her. "Ridiculous. This is just one of your tactics to instill fear in people. Well, it won't work on me. If you know my father as well as you profess," Helen glared at Colonel Tavington defiantly," then tell me his full name." Yes. That'll be proof enough for me.

"Robert Abner Sinclair," replied Colonel Tavington with an overconfident expression.

Helen's face fell. _This isn't right-none of it. What the hell? How did he know my father's name? There's no way he'd know!_ Helen fought to withhold tears as her cheeks burned with anger. Her chest began to heave quickly. "You bastard! You unforgivable bastard!" She gave a great push, releasing herself from Tavington's hold briefly until he snatched her wrists again. "Let go! I'll kill you if you did anything to my father!"

"Be silent, will you?" Tavington quickly wrapped his other arm around Helen's waist again to keep her from escaping as he tightly gripped Helen's wrist. "Calm down! You didn't even allow me to finish my - "

"Calm...? How can I be calm when you - You're terribly cruel. How could you?" Helen struggled and beat Colonel Tavington's chest with her fists. She raised her voice again. "How could you?! You speak as if my family was terrible. They ain't! Your family must be horrid if they raised such a man like you!" Helen was nearly in tears as she struggled to control her anger, shock, and hurt.

"Then what will you do, Miss Sinclair? If you detest me so, what will you do?"

"Fate will do it for me," she spoke tersely.

"Fate... Hmph! Well, your 'fate' has you as my prisoner whether you like it or not, Miss Sinclair."

"I don't belong to anyone, and I most certainly will not belong to you! Now, let go of me!"

Colonel Tavington's eyes twitched in response to Helen's last words. Somehow, it angered him more than he expected. It left a distaste inside him he found annoying.

"I think not." Colonel Tavington released Helen's hand to grab her chin, forcing her to stare at him. "I dare you to insult me again, Miss Sinclair. You are quickly tying the noose around that pretty neck of yours."

"At least I have the willpower to speak my mind against you unlike everyone else."

"You think you're brave and wise but you are a fool."

"Perhaps but no greater a fool than _you_ are. I'm not afraid of you."

The familiar words strangely surprised Col. Tavington as he reflected upon every moment Helen resisted him and stood her ground with him. He had witnessed and heard such things countless times from Rebels, but to find it in a woman - a pretty woman at that- intrigued him. Her firm resolve was beautiful even.

With a deep inhale, suddenly less angry and animated, Col. Tavington loosened his tight squeeze on Helen.

"I should like to see how far your flame burns, Miss Sinclair; however," Col. Tavington leaned in closer, lips nearly touching Helen's as he steadily gazed at her, "I do intend to snuff out that rebellious flame of yours. Perhaps then...you'll obey me."

Helen blushed and spoke firmly, "Never."

"Then permit me to leave a mark on you, which you will never forget."

Helen's eyes widened as she saw Colonel's Tavington's intent. She managed to break free from him and covered her lips as she took three steps backward. She made a move to slap him for such an improper, hasty action, but Colonel Tavington caught her hand with his right.

Colonel Tavington released a laugh. "Much obliged, Miss Sinclair, for graciously heeding me." He amusedly smiled, planting a kiss on Helen's hand.

 _W-what...? That fool! He tricked me?!_ Helen furiously blushed as she yanked her hand free from Tavington's hold.

"I will leave you to your enjoyment of the ball, Miss Sinclair."

"I-I do not understand."

"I think you know quite well what I meant, Miss Sinclair."

"But why?"

Col. Tavington sighed. "The truth of the matter is I change my mind, Miss Sinclair. As much as I would love to continue this charade here... Well, I must decline."

 _Oh. I see. He doesn't want to get in trouble by General O'Hara and Lord Cornwallis._

Colonel Tavington amusedly smiled again as he released Helen's hand. "But only on one condition: you are not to leave this place without me. Is that understood?"

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"None at all, Miss Sinclair."

 _Of course not. "Choice" isn't even in Tavington's dictionary._ Helen sighed in resignation. "If that is all, then fine." More than anything, she just wanted him to leave already.

"Good! Then, you are free to wander." Colonel Tavington bowed. He impishly smirked. "Enjoy, Miss Sinclair." And with those teasing words echoing in Helen's mind, Col. Tavington disappeared from view.

Helen collapsed onto a nearby bench as her mind struggled to comprehend what had transpired. Just when she was certain of things, everything flipped on her and then flipped again.

"Just...what in the hell is goin' on?" Helen looked up at the stars and moon. "Can anyone tell me that? Please?" She sighed. "Is any of this even real?" She pinched herself, which confirmed it for her. Helen sighed as she buried her face in her hands. "I just wanna go home. ...Stupid jerk." She felt her cheeks blush as she saw Tavington in her mind. "Stupid jerk! I hope you choke on your wine!"


End file.
